


The Promised Beginning

by Six_Piece_Chicken_McNobody



Series: Windmills & Windowsills [2]
Category: Kingdom Hearts
Genre: M/M, Scala ad Caelum (Kingdom Hearts)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-14
Updated: 2019-03-14
Packaged: 2019-11-18 04:59:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18113771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Six_Piece_Chicken_McNobody/pseuds/Six_Piece_Chicken_McNobody
Summary: Edgy loner to become fast friends with chatty extrovert, surprising no one.





	The Promised Beginning

Xehanort’s arrival in Scala ad Caelum had signaled a new chapter of his life. The first chapter, to be honest. Seventeen years on Destiny Islands had barely given him enough material to fill a prologue, but here, with the towering cities and crowded horizons, the vast archives and hallowed training grounds, Xehanort knew that he could make a name for himself. Reinvent himself, even, or simply become the person he had always strived to be. The person that the islands never quite had room for.

His ambition came with a certain amount of wariness—an acceptable amount, in his opinion. He had mostly pleasant interactions with his classmates, but he kept them at arm’s length. It was a new world, he told himself. He was smart to be cautious and take his time feeling it out. He had always been a little guarded, and it made no sense to him that anyone would choose not to be.

Eraqus, for example. Always greeting Xehanort when he took his seat in history class, as if they themselves shared any kind of history. Always smiling when they crossed paths in the halls or around town, as if he were about to strike up a conversation. Sometimes he did, undeterred by Xehanort’s polite but pointedly brief responses. Eraqus was the kind of person who wore his whole heart on his sleeve—which, Xehanort figured, explained why they were so large.

He almost felt bad when Eraqus was assigned to be his partner in Keyblade training. The kid was the embodiment of Scala itself: bright and genial, with his head perpetually in the clouds. He dressed for comfort over utility and likely spent most of his time indoors, if his pale complexion and soft-featured face were anything to go by. Xehanort, in contrast, had grown up with no cushy gondolas to ferry him from point A to point B. Just hard rowing if he wanted to get from one island to the other, where he whiled away the hours sparring with the other kids on the beach.

And now, after nearly a month of waiting, he had a Keyblade in his hands. It was a rudimentary model, strictly for training purposes, but he was eager to use it and had no intention of holding back. He hefted the weapon a few times, still accustomed to the wooden swords and sticks of his youth, but that seemed like a fair handicap. It might even give his dreamy-eyed, lackadaisical opponent a fighting chance.

That was the last thought Xehanort had before he found himself staring at the ceiling, lying flat on his back. His head whirled from both the suddenness of his fall and the slew of encouragements coming from the one who’d felled him. “Ooh…you okay, Xehanort? That wasn’t too bad! You have a really good natural stance. Are you _sure_ you’ve never held a Keyblade before?” Xehanort gave him a wordless grunt, shrugging off his help as he got to his feet.

Eraqus was a formidable combatant, as the bruises on Xehanort’s back and ego could attest to. But personality-wise, he seemed to have no natural defenses whatsoever. He’d been in the perfect position to add literal insult to injury, egged on by their classmates who snickered on the sidelines, yet Xehanort hadn’t heard a shred of sarcasm in his tone.

Still, he refused to take Eraqus at face value. Xehanort knew his cheerful friendliness was a guise for _something_. He just didn’t know what.

Puzzles existed to be solved, and Xehanort was determined to figure Eraqus out. But as with any endeavor that failed to yield results, his resolve quickly turned into frustration, and then resentment. He’d worked so hard to forge himself, whittling his personality down to an almost monastic degree, zeroing in on his goals and pursuing them with singleminded focus.

And there was Eraqus, sitting in class with a smile on his face, a sunshine magnet even indoors. He was utterly at ease and already years ahead of Xehanort, a living reminder that some things would always be beyond his control, that his hard work and motivation could be outshone by someone else’s circumstances and sheer luck.

Xehanort tried not to outright hate the kid. He knew he had no real reason to. But when they were paired up for a research project in their history class, he realized he’d been broadcasting his feelings more clearly than he thought. Eraqus’s attempts at friendly conversation had dwindled since their sparring match, and now he seemed uneasy just to be in the same room as Xehanort, let alone at the same table, digging through a stack of old books in the cavernous library.

Neither one of them had planned to say much, only interacting for the sake of completing the project. But when Eraqus reached for a book at the same time as Xehanort, and then quickly withdrew his hand, muttering “sorry, sorry” as if he’d committed some grave offense, Xehanort hit a limit he didn’t know he’d had.

“All right, _look_ ,” he began, and before he knew it, everything came pouring out. He explained how he didn’t like being around Eraqus, how he had _not_ wanted to be partnered with him for this project, how they didn’t “click” with each other. He also explained how explaining all of this was making him feel very petty and bitter and irrational. But he went on, unable to stop now that he’d started putting his feelings into thoughts, and his thoughts into words. He cited everything about Eraqus that he disliked: his easygoing nature, his suspicious friendliness, his unbridled curiosity without a driving force behind it. The more he talked, the more he realized that these traits weren’t necessarily things he didn’t like, but rather things he didn’t understand.

Like light streaming through an open door, an epiphany dawned. It came with such swiftness and accuracy that Xehanort almost didn’t share it. But he figured he owed Eraqus the truth in its entirety, not just the parts that were cathartic for Xehanort to unload on him. So, with no small amount of reluctance, he ended his little diatribe with, “Everything that comes naturally to you is something I had to work hard to achieve. Or something I just don’t have at all. You’re like…a mirror, held up to my shortcomings.”

It occurred to him, now that he was done talking, that _maybe_ having this conversation in an otherwise silent library wasn’t his brightest idea. Eraqus stared, and Xehanort wouldn’t be surprised, nor would he blame the kid, if he decided to hate his guts from now on.

He _was_ surprised when Eraqus gave him a tentative smile. It was the first one that Xehanort trusted, the first one he felt was truly earned, and out of pure instinct, he almost smiled back. “Wow,” Eraqus said quietly, “that’s crazy.”

Xehanort couldn’t have agreed more, already feeling beyond ridiculous about his outburst. But Eraqus laughed in relief and added, “That’s _exactly_ how I feel about you.”

It was difficult not to become friends after that, and soon Xehanort discovered that he had been both right and wrong about Eraqus. He was guileless, optimistic, lazy, and friendly, but also crafty, skeptical, athletic, and—as Xehanort learned once they started spending time together outside class—scathingly sarcastic. There was more to him beneath the surface, but that didn’t make the surface a facade. Every trait was as wholehearted and genuine as the rest, even the ones that should have clashed, creating a strange duality that Xehanort found fascinating.

Eventually, Eraqus wanted to know about Xehanort’s home world, a question he’d obviously been itching to ask since they met. Xehanort spent a whopping four minutes telling him about the islands as if he were reading facts from an encyclopedia. Eraqus assumed there was more to the world than Xehanort’s dry account, but he didn’t push him. He may have only learned the bare minimum about the islands themselves, but he learned a lot about Xehanort from his clinical and detached tone.

Xehanort wasted no time turning the tables and asking about Scala. Eraqus, who had lived in this world as far back as he could remember, took his time sharing what he knew about its history and customs. He mentioned chess as casually as possible and was delighted by the inquisitive look Xehanort gave him. He seemed skeptical when Eraqus said it was a board game, but when he specified that it was a game of strategy and intellect, Xehanort was all for it. Eraqus promised to bring his board up from his room the following day so they could play a round or two after training.

They sat on the windowsill while Eraqus arranged the board between them, and he noticed how attentively Xehanort was watching, devouring the details of this brand new game before it had even begun. He studied the pieces on his side of the board as if they were an unfathomable gift, picking up the black and gold king and running his thumb over the intricate metalwork. Eraqus knew every inch of the board by heart; he could probably set it up blindfolded. But with Xehanort sitting across from him, rapt and curious, he felt as if he were doing something borderline mystical.

It reminded Eraqus of his first time laying eyes on the board, before it had become a mundane and familiar heirloom. He had stood on his toes to reach the tabletop, gazing at the ornate pieces and seeing a whole cast of characters, fantastical creatures, and clashes of grand magic on a checkered battlefield. He’d long since written those daydreams off as silly, just one of many outlets for his overactive imagination. But when he saw the look of wonder in Xehanort’s eyes, he couldn’t bring himself to feel embarrassment at his child self. The novelty that the chessboard held for Xehanort overlapped the warm nostalgia it held for Eraqus.

They began their game once Xehanort knew the basic rules, and it wasn’t long at all before he developed a strategy—a predictable one for a first-timer, but impressive nonetheless. He might have stood a chance if Eraqus had informed him of the limitations of certain pieces, or lesser-known-but-still- _technically_ -legal rules that could quickly turn the tide. He defeated Xehanort in fewer moves than the latter would have thought possible, and he took obvious delight in pointing out where his young pupil had gone wrong.

“I’m two months older than you,” Xehanort deadpanned, scrutinizing the board and trying to understand his mistakes without Eraqus’s help. Eraqus responded with a smug but endearingly nasal little laugh and set the pieces up again, grinning like the sore winner he was while Xehanort grumbled like the sore loser _he_ was.

Xehanort realized then that Eraqus wasn’t a mirror, but a stained glass window: vivid and brilliant, letting the light through, but not always perfectly clear.

They played a few more rounds at Xehanort’s insistence. Eraqus may have had a happy-go-lucky personality as a student, but he was a trial by fire kind of teacher, throwing Xehanort into the game with only partial knowledge just to see how he’d fare. It was a test of not only his strategic prowess, but also his emotional response. What Eraqus discovered was that, while Xehanort didn’t necessarily mind not knowing something, he bristled when information was actively withheld. Still, he thrived on learning from his mistakes, and it wasn’t long before the two of them were on the same level, developing different styles but going toe-to-toe with ease. Their friendship took root in this rivalry, and it continued to blossom in their countless chess games, sparring matches, and philosophical debates.

* * *

Today, however, they only get five minutes into a discussion about fate vs. free will before they drop it in favor of relaxing by the waterside. Xehanort had come to Scala in order to push himself and seek his goals, to be free of those stagnant islands, rife with slothfulness, digging their heels in at the slightest suggestion of forward progress.

But man, did it feel good to do absolutely nothing after a solid week of training.

So they lie side by side on the grass for what must be the hundredth time, teetering on the edge of an afternoon nap. Eraqus has a calm smile on his face—naively calm, given the company he keeps. Xehanort is too tired for pranks, but that blissful smile makes him want to do something spontaneous and stupid. He plucks a dandelion and, after twirling it contemplatively, bops it on the tip of Eraqus’s scooped nose.

Eraqus scrunches his face immediately. One second it’s serene and smooth, almost doll-like, and the next it’s wrinkle-nosed and furrow-browed as he holds in a sneeze. Xehanort has probably provoked this reaction too many times, but it still amuses him, how expressive Eraqus’s face can be even with his eyes closed. And Eraqus is often the first to laugh, once he swats the offending flower away.

But the warm air has made him extra lazy and agreeable today. He simply takes the flower out of Xehanort’s hand and slides it behind his own ear, a sunburst nestled in wavy black hair. He puts his hand beneath his head again, all without opening his eyes, allowing Xehanort to study him freely: the petals curling at his temple, the look of true contentment on his face.

Xehanort lies down beside him again, closing his own eyes and accepting that he might very well drift off to sleep here on the lawn. He might even dream. The windmills roll overhead, turning steadily like clocks and counting the hours that Xehanort, for all his ambition, is more than happy to let slip by.

**Author's Note:**

> Didn't realize until the last round of edits that Eraqus literally sweeps Xehanort off his feet. What a class act.


End file.
